


omnics and electric sheep

by antikytheras



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Demons, Gen, Getting Together, I Tried, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Comedy, Spirits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 00:38:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13065501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antikytheras/pseuds/antikytheras
Summary: 'I'd rather not have you chasing my soul across three mountain ranges and five countries again, thank you very much.' The omnic eyes the red gate with an entirely reasonable amount of distrust, considering what happened the last time Genji coaxed him through one. 'I will wait out here. The sparrows are pleasant company.''You just like this body too much,' Genji accuses.Zenyatta doesn't (can't) smile, but he might as well have been. 'Attachment? Me? Banish the thought.'





	omnics and electric sheep

When the letter arrives, Genji is deep in thought, gathering the bits of himself he's lost in the last few days and patching them back into his mainframe. The cushion beneath his thighs is soft and plush, and his room in the Shambali temple is comfortably chilly, if a little spartan for his tastes. He knows the walls are a regular pattern of faintly-yellow bricks, and that the windows have neither curtains nor window panes. Even with his eyes closed to the wall before him, even with his mind wandering an entirely different dimension, he keeps his memories grounded in the fertile ground of his new, adopted life. He likes wearing the faceplate while he meditates, if only because it does a better job of keeping distractions at bay than his closed eyes alone.  
  
The aforementioned distraction floats in through the door, just a touch more frantically than his usual languid pace.  
  
Deep in the unusual state of being not-quite-demon yet not-quite-machine, Genji's sensors, drowning in and yet immune to the universe's stream of pure energy, picks up on his master's very well-shielded and extremely mild distress. The urge to reach out and blanket his master's golden aura with his own soothing green almost overtakes him, but before the tendrils of his magic can curl out and wrap round the golden warmth of his master, the cold metal of his faceplate shocks his consciousness back into the world of the living.  
  
Abruptly slipping out of the stream is always a recipe for disaster, because it expels the unfiltered, free-flowing built-up energy through the first part of him that moves, so he's fairly sure he would have melted his own eyeballs if not for his master calmly ripping his faceplate off and gently holding Genji's face in his hands.  
  
After his master is done reflecting Genji's nightmare-fuelled demonic energy through the bright golden glow of his Transcendence, his chassis is flaring red-hot. Genji watches the tendrils of steam curling off the top of his master's head with the same contentment that used to fill him when he sat in hot springs and watched steam rise from the tiny towel perched on a cute girlfriend’s head.  
  
'That was very careless of you,' Zenyatta chides warmly, voicebox distorted by the roaring heat wreaking chaos on his systems. 'Where is this complacency coming from?'  
  
Sufficiently chastised, Genji bows his head. 'I sensed your distress. I could not help it.'  
  
Zenyatta stares at him. If he were a less impossibly polite omnic, he would probably have raised an eyebrow in disbelief.  
  
In the silence that follows, Genji feels inhumanly compelled to add, 'And, well, I suppose having a clairvoyant master does that to you.'

Zenyatta only sighs.

'Sorry,' Genji mumbles sheepishly at last. 'I did not mean to make you worry.'  
  
'I did not enjoy seeing the futures with you angry and blinded,' Zenyatta says in the best scolding tone he can muster, which ends up making Genji feel even worse because he just sounds so very sad. 'I enjoy seeing your shining green eyes through your eyeholes, yes, but not when they're bright enough to blind the whole temple and a good half of the town down in the ravine.'  
  
'I will be more careful,' is the best he can truthfully promise.  
  
'I will not always be here to save you,' Zenyatta warns, and Genji jolts upright, a searing pain tearing through his chest.  
  
It takes a few seconds for him to realise that it's not just his heart being overdramatic.  
  
'Uh, Master, mind the plating on the—'  
  
'Oh!' is the little sound of surprise his master gives, and then, regrettably, his hands are no longer cradling his face, his thumb no longer absentmindedly rubbing circles into the sensitive juncture between flesh and wiring at the back of his neck. Or short-circuiting his central nervous system. Or, y'know, burning another hole into his ugly scarred face.  
  
'Hm,' is the next thoughtful noise, followed by the slightest whirr of machinery and moving parts. Zenyatta inspects his hand, turning it over and rotating it in definitely-not-human directions. 'I suspect the heat increased this body's conductivity. My apologies, Genji.'  
  
Genji's eyes are, for once, entirely focused on one thing and one thing only. The envelope in Zenyatta's hand has burnt entirely to cinders, ashes long blown out through the ever-open windows of the Shambali temple. But the letter itself is uncharred, wholly white and pristine and perfectly folded with a perfectly tied intricate blue knot that only a very particular group of people from his past should have any business knowing.  
  
'Ah,' Zenyatta says delicately, tracing the line from his gaze to the offending article loosely held in one hand. 'You have mail.'  
  
'From who?' Genji knows there will not be a return address. His brother would never leave one.  
  
'It's funny,' Zenyatta comments offhandedly, extending the arm holding the letter towards Genji. 'I never knew spirit dragons were willing to serve as mail couriers. Or that they were so— well.'  
  
Curious. He doesn't feel any anger. Or regret. Or even brotherly irritation.  
  
He snatches up the sheet of paper. 'What did my brother's dragon do to you?'  
  
'A grievous injustice,' Zenyatta declares solemnly, and that's all it takes for Genji to know that his master is trying to be playful. It's working. Embarrassingly well, actually. 'He— It's a he, yes? Ah, good— He ate my sugar biscuits. The ones in the round blue tins, that Mondatta likes to appropriate and keep his prayer articles in.'  
  
Genji rolls his eyes, though he can't seem to keep a smile off his face. Sneaky little thing. His master's still holding on to his faceplate, too. 'I can always buy you some more from the village, Master.'  
  
'Yes, I know you would do anything for me,' Zenyatta's patting his head indulgently, and Genji can't even find it in himself to pretend to be indignant, 'but unfortunately, it's not quite that simple.'  
  
'It's hardly an hour's walk away, I can—'  
  
'I'm not referring to the cravings of my body, which, as you are well aware, does not come equipped with proper taste sensors.' Zenyatta's voice has lost its playful edge. 'The dragon has not stopped eating. It is very frail and weak. I could probably convince it to become a scarf for me  in exchange for one of my orbs. Or, well,' he casts his gaze skyward, thoughtfully burning a hole in the ceiling with his too-sharp eyes, 'maybe two, if your brother is as stubborn as you say.'  
  
Genji falls silent, and Zenyatta understands.  
  
He leaves the room without another word.  
  
Genji closes his eyes and dives back into the stream, careful to avoid dissolving into it like he did before. He senses his master's concern for the dragon, feels the warm golden glow of his energy retreat to the kitchens and wrap round the panicked, struggling, weak blue spark like a fluffy golden blanket.  
  
'Come, little one,' he hears his master murmur, sweet and gentle, 'I will be your fire, and you can be my scarf. A fair exchange, no?'  
  
Just like that, the connection between their minds slams shut, golden bolts and locks sliding into place. Now, all Genji senses is the smooth, warm, glossy surface of Zenyatta's intricate, well-honed mind. He understands his master's intention, of course. That is all Zenyatta will allow him to hear.  
  
He sneaks out of his room that night, the moment the sun fully crosses the horizon, his most valuable belongings stashed in a bag strapped to his shoulders and an extremely apologetic note left on the only fluffy meditation pillow in the whole temple.  
  
(Zenyatta had made it just for him, of course.)

 

 

 

 

  
  
Genji runs, at first.  
  
It's easy to run forever, with the carcass of a demon fuelling the cybernetic enhancements covering every square inch of his skin. He could, he really could, if he tried, if he ignored the burning in the few human-parts he had left and tore his flesh-and-humanity to shreds.  
  
The mountains are unforgiving. He loses count of how many times he almost stumbles and falls.  
  
After a particularly nerve-wracking run-in with a cliff and several sharp, pointy rocks, Genji starts to rethink his original plan.  
  
His brother— well, he didn't really want to think too hard about their history.  
  
The dragon— no, he didn't want to think about dragons anytime soon. He hopes that it would be okay, but that's about as far as he can go before his thoughts turn dark. He'd rather think on his brother.  
  
So, his brother.  
  
Had he changed? Was he ever even the type to change? Would he see the metal plating over his once-perfect body and shun him once more? Would he cut him down again and leave him to die in the snow, on a mountaintop just like this? Or would he be proud, proud of the good his little brother had done? Proud that his stupid-selfish little brother had grown to become the type of person who taught children their letters and arithmetic and meditated and willingly listened to monks preaching their sermons?  
  
Or, well, maybe just one monk.  
  
Genji steers his mind firmly back onto his previous train of thought. All aboard, destination: fratricide.  
  
His legs are burning. His lungs are struggling to draw air. How long has he been running for? How much longer will he have to run? How much longer can he run? If he walks in the snow will he freeze to death? He remembers the other omnic monks speaking in low tones about the approaching cold front, the preparations they had taken to cold-proof the villagers' homes at the base of the mountain. How they might even have to open their doors to the wild animals that roamed the area freely, because even an arctic wolf could fall into an endless sleep within minutes of first frost.  
  
There's no way he's dying on the way to saving his own dying brother.  
  
But the woods are getting dark, and the clouds are heavy with snow.  
  
Just as he's about to give up, he sees a familiar golden speck in the distance, unmoving at the peak of the highest mountain for yards and yards.  
  
It's a long ways away, but Genji picks himself right back up and runs.  
  
His heart thundering in his cold steel chest, he makes it past the next valley, just a few miles away from the peak.  
  
Snow falls, unrelenting and hard for such soft, powdery crystals. It comes down in a curtain of white, assaulting his vision with nothing but the cold. Where there once was forest and mountain range, now he sees nothing but white and white and white.  
  
He casts his augmented vision out and for a brief, terrifying moment, he sees nothing at the peak— no warm golden glow, no gleaming metal frame, not even the faintest shadowy figure to show that anything real had ever been up there.  
  
Desperation drives him round the corner, to a deserted clearing where he knows his master likes to watch the stars alone, to see—  
  
Zenyatta, meditating peacefully under the yellow light of the eerie-round full moon. His body is planted on the tree stump, his lights have gone out and his back is slumped, but Genji knows better than to think so little of his master.  
  
He also happens to be very familiar with his master's sleep mode, so—  
  
Zenyatta lifts his head when Genji's footsteps crunch through the thick, heavy snow. The darkness in his eyes breaks like a gunshot wound, blazing white-gold as his orbs spin dizzyingly behind his back. He unfolds one arm and catches a golden orb out of orbit, catching it out of the air in a spidery motion and sending it flying across to Genji.  
  
Zenyatta's golden light suffuses his spirit, a single candle burning impossibly bright in the unforgiving elements, chasing the darkness from the edges of his vision.  
  
That's when Genji laughs, breathless and easy and free, and slows to a stroll.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_'You did that on purpose, didn't you?'_  
  
_A happy, thoughtful hum._  
_  
'Maybe.'_

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my very first romcom fellas ٩( ᐛ )و [twitter](https://twitter.com/_antikytheras) hmu if you ever wanna play ovw with a support main/flex or if you wanna "encourage" me to update soon ha ha h a


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